


A Journey Through an Unknown Dream

by odalwa



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Other, Patches is not a spider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:58:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18024233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odalwa/pseuds/odalwa
Summary: In the few days before the hunt, Micolash visits the Nightmare Frontier on his own in an attempt to make sense of the collective research that brought them here. He can't claim to understand the beings in this strange land, but his encounters with them inspire a zealous faith in him, perhaps a misguided one.





	A Journey Through an Unknown Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I tried harder on this thing than I usually do for fanfiction. I've never 'studied up' on the lore either, just played the game and read fics that were on this very site, so sorry if I get a key detail about Yahar'gul wrong. Please tell me what you think!

At the end of a long dark hall, in the center of a runic circle haphazardly rubbed on the floor, Micolash sits limply in a wooden chair. He is lost deep in a nightmare, his thoughts amplified by the Mensis cage. The room itself is quite open, with big arching windows that let the sunlight in. It is free from furniture except for the wooden chair; a necessity to cultivate the proper energy to make contact with the unknown world of the Great Ones. Micolash has read many papers from many others who have tried variations of this method of contact; none of them agree on what exactly it does accomplish, but all of them agree that it is exceedingly painful.

Micolash can’t just accept their testimony, however. With the Choir having already made contact successfully, and Rom’s experiments moving smoothly along, Micolash can’t just summarize some research papers and think that it will impress the councilors of the Healing Church. He must experience it for himself before he can face poor feeble Master Willem with such disappointing news.

Within his dream, Micolash wakes on the damp Earth in a rocky ruin, immediately disoriented by the rolling landscape.  There is no sign of the room or the chair he was sitting in. The cage wrapped around his face presses in on him on all sides, and he finds himself starting to hyperventilate. The metal buzzes around him, and a voice calls out loudly, from all around. Micolash is terrified and confused; the voice is shrill and alien, yet it seems to come from within his own head, shouting in a language he doesn’t understand.

He thinks, but he can’t be sure, that it’s upset. Maybe the ground itself is yelling at him to get off of it. In the distance are many large wriggling creatures; he can’t make out a head, but many tails on each one. Wearing the cage, Micolash feels like he’s perceiving so much more than he ever did while awake, and it’s absolutely too much. He begins to hear many overlapping murmuring voices in his head, and they send electric signals down his spine in waves. He cries out in shock and lays carefully on his side, head swirling with so much sensation.

A shriek pierces the thick air and stirs him into action. With shaking hands he tugs on the bars of the cage, pulling it off and away from his head. Slowly the sound fades and Micolash is left alone with the rocks and wind. He rummages through his pockets and retrieves a small flask, opening it and downing it in one gulp easily. It calms his nerves right away, and he breathes deeply, smelling the salty air. The very fact that the Church’s blood works in this other realm gives a lot of merit to the research Mensis has done. This is no mere dream, he thinks. Mind set in order, he rises to his feet and pulls the cage back over his head.

The shrill noises return, and Micolash suspects there isn’t a visible source. Could this be the fabled Oedon? He can’t help but swell with pride at the idea that a Great One would reach out to him as soon as he set foot in its realm.

“Hello?” Micolash looks out over the vast landscape, enthralled by the alien appearance. Slowly, he wanders until he finds what seems like a huge circle carved out of the hills, with towering pillars of rock hugging the walls. It doesn’t appear to be built by any tools Micolash knows of, but there’s no way that such a structure could have formed naturally. He approaches the center cautiously, mind brimming with questions about the construction of such a place, or the purpose of the humongous pillars. He reaches out to touch the rough stone, contemplating the porous texture, when he feels a sudden pressure around his entire body that pulls his arms to his side. Panic envelops Micolash again as the pressure increases quickly and he is lifted off the ground. The constant sounds amplified by the cage grow louder and he seizes from the sudden pain in his head. Seeming to hover over twenty feet in the air with those screeching whispers in his ears and his mind, Micolash does the only natural thing and gives an unholy shriek of his own, squirming wildly. The grip tightens, and in his own mind, he hears a scathing whisper: “You fool.” Suddenly Micolash can’t breathe, and he is enveloped in agony as his ribs and throat are crushed, and his spine snaps from the pressure.

 

Micolash opens his eyes to a sunny sky, and he stretches carefully, feeling his long limbs a little achy from sleeping in a chair. His neck hurts from the weight of the cage, but he leaves it on for now. He’s sweating and he feels a sickly weight in his stomach. What happened? What was that? Why would it kill him? No reports ever mentioned any kind of being _actually_ communicating with them. He doesn’t know if he feels happy or not that it singled him out, because, well, it killed him. And insulted him. Micolash gulps a couple times, calming his breathing, and reaches into his pockets for another sedative. He tilts his head back and carefully pours it through the bars of the cage into his mouth.

“What are you doing out here?” a voice calls out. Micolash starts and turns to see Damian leaning against the wall, his scholar’s cape swaying gently in the breeze.

“I-I wanted to see… So…” Micolash’s mind is slow from the sedative, and he struggles to explain what he saw through the haze of sleep and drugs. Damian smiles somewhat distantly.

“It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?” Damian shrugs and approaches him.

“So you, you’ve seen it too, then?” Micolash asks. Damian nods, and Micolash realizes suddenly he’s not wearing a cage.

“Yeah. I’ve seen it.” Micolash sits peacefully, trying to think of words to convey his excitement, but the sedative makes him feel so content to sit quietly. “I was looking for you earlier,” Damian says. “You weren’t in the dining hall for breakfast.”

“No, no I…” Micolash struggles for words, “I was really, quite excited about this- er, discovery, so.” Damian reaches into a small pouch at his hip and retrieves a sugary biscuit.

“Here, take it. Most everyone has a low appetite this close to the hunt. The cooks are throwing food away by the barrel.” Micolash has no desire to eat either, but he accepts the biscuit. Yharnam has never been known for its quality cuisine.

“Thanks. I’m afraid I don’t have time for any kind of social occasion; I must head straight back and write out what I’ve seen, while I can remember.” Micolash gathers himself up and stands tall, his head swaying with the extra weight of the Mensis cage.

“Of course, Professor. But um, well, when you have time, I must tell you something sort of urgent.” Damian looks out the gazebo onto the streets of Yahar’gul, then back at Micolash. “Let’s talk before the hunt begins, alright?”

“Of course. There’s much to be done. Come see me later!” Micolash thumps a heavy hand on Damian’s shoulder and takes off in stride toward the dormitories. Damian sighs as Micolash rushes inside.

 

Light fades quickly in Micolash’s private quarters as the sun sets, and the scholar hunches over his desk to write by candlelight. His ears are ringing, and his shoulders feel stiff and achy. He knows this is a quick path to a migraine, but his pride won’t let him take off the Mensis cage yet. Surely the buzzing is a sign of continued attempts at communication by the Great Ones. While he is wearing the cage, it amplifies his own thoughts and his perception of the world around him. Wouldn’t it be shameful if he admitted that the Great Ones are simply too great for his small mind?

A knock at the door stirs him and causes his train of thought to sputter. “Who is it!” he calls out impatiently.

“Damian, sir. Sorry if I’m disturbing you,” says a muffled voice. Micolash sighs and puts down his pen.

“Come in!” He yells. Damian opens the door quietly and shuffles toward the tall desk against the wall.

“I-uh, first of all, Professor, how are you?” he asks.

“… I am well,” Micolash says. There’s a moment of silence. “How are you doing, Damian?”

“I am doing quite alright, thank you.” Damian sounds amicable enough. “I thought I might see you at dinner.” Micolash sighs impatiently.

“I’m afraid there’s very little time for us to get everything in order before the night of the hunt begins, and I must adjust my priorities accordingly.”

“Yes well, I thought I’d bring you something…” Damian reaches into his robes but Micolash just tuts.

“No, no, I don’t need any kind of snack, thank you.”

“Okay… I actually wanted to talk to you, about the hunt.” Damian says as he discreetly sets down a cut piece of bread and summer sausage.

“What is it?” Micolash finally turns around in his chair to look up at Damian, who looks back at him sadly.

“Last night I had a dream about the abandoned workshop in Yharnam.”

“Oh?”

“And I met a man there who said I am to be a hunter.”

“… You can’t be serious…”

“I’m sure you understand that means I can’t take part in the ritual.” Damian shifts his weight from side to side, and Micolash looks around for a second chair he could offer.

“Of course you can,” Micolash says. “This ritual is so much more important than any of the Church’s beast problems! There is already a plethora of eager hunters, so of course, you’ll stay with us and represent the School of Mensis when we make contact.” He rises and pulls some books and papers off a chair in the corner and onto the floor, and pulls it close to his chair.

“I don’t really think I have a choice,” says Damian. Micolash gestures for him to sit, but Damian shakes his head. “I think when I sleep tonight, I’ll see it again. Some kind of higher being controls the hunt now.” Micolash has no response. “This will probably be good,” Damian sighs. “It will be a new perspective to give to the School of Mensis.”

Micolash hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, sure. Alright.” He turns back to his desk and rummages through the drawers. He then hands to Damian several vials with various concoctions inside.

“You’ll need something to calm the nerves, and certainly at least a little blood.”

“Thank you,” Damian drops them all into the pocket of his robes. He looks at Micolash sadly. “I really must go.”

“Yes, go on. Go on.” Damian goes quickly, and Micolash wonders briefly if he will see him again tomorrow. After that, there might not be another chance. Unfortunately, there is still a lot to do in preparation for the upcoming ritual, and Micolash wants to be sure he puts forth his best effort. He rushes to finish his notes, but his thoughts are frayed, and after some struggling with the pen, he decides there is even more important work to see to first. Micolash puts on a cloak and heads out the door for the streets of Yahar’gul.

The dying light of the sun casts shadows over the clouds that loom over the sky. Micolash notes unhappily that the growing clouds are even covering the moon from view: a bad omen for sure. The streets are nearly empty; only the occasional hunter running from place to place in a rush to prepare for the night after tomorrow. On the balconies overlooking the street are some Pthumerian women, presumably watching over them to ensure the success of the ritual. Micolash knows their eyes will be on him, and feels his resolve growing.

By chance he encounters a pair of freshmen students on their way to the dormitories. They can recognize Micolash from a mile away, and they wave to him and bow respectfully once they get close enough. Micolash smiles proudly, greeting the students happily while looking them over. The girl is much cuter than her companion, and he gives her due attention for it, feeling happily distracted for a moment. After he attempts to make a joke about the disappointing results of a recent vivisection, they laugh uncomfortably and both turn a bit pale, and Micolash, unaware of their discomfort, bids them goodnight and enters an alley with a contact ritual built into the bricks.

The chair here is supposed to face the moon rising over the bay, but the mist over the water meets the rolling clouds above to create a boring smear of gray which hides it completely. Micolash folds his coat over his lap as he sits, facing the stormy ocean breeze. He pulls from his pocket a few vials to aid with the travel, downing them all in one. Then he retrieves a piece of paper, and unwraps it to reveal the shriveled corpse of a yellow slug. Sighing and steeling his jaw, Micolash sets it carefully on his tongue and swallows it quickly. The sensation in his throat is pretty unpleasant, but very soon he begins to feel the arcane powers take hold of him and pull him out of consciousness.  His head lolls backward and he collapses into what can only be the land of the Great Ones.

 

With the remains of a phantasm inside him, Micolash hears the voices in this plane clearly. There is a constant murmuring in his ear, as well as the sounds of many people chanting in the distance. What he first interpreted as painful ringing in his ears has focused to the clear resonance of many bells. The murmuring clears as well, and a deep and alien voice speaks to him right away.

“Falling traveling fool. I see you there. You. Heir to a fool’s dream gone wrong; Heir to a long-lost and forgotten child of blood, heir to the pain of Yharnam, heir to-“

“God, what is this?!” Micolash cries, but the voice continues at pace, speaking nonsense into his ears.

“and to the scourge of frenzied beasts that have fallen to their nightmare, you don’t even know what you seek, do you?” Laughter echoes in Micolash’s head.

“Eyes! We seek eyes! T-to grant us understanding, to enable us to see the truth of the world! Where-“ Micolash turns around in the empty landscape, looking for the source. “Where are you, please?!”

“Always screaming about something, you lot. I’m right here.”

Suddenly Micolash is seized in an invisible grip that lifts him off the ground. “No! No! Please, Don’t kill me! I just want to understand!” Pressure tugs at his shoulders on either side and pulls his arms back as he is raised higher in the air. He’s sure he’s going to be crushed again, but instead the invisible force simply holds him aloft. Bells ring across the landscape, and Micolash shakes with fear.

“I didn’t think you’d really hear me.” Something comes between Micolash and his clothes, causing him to scream in surprise. It feels like many round and fleshy appendages softly rubbing at the seams of his clothes, then underneath them.

“W-what’s happening? What are you?!” Micolash can’t help but scream as this alien but intimate feeling spreads across his body. The invisible limbs tremble lightly as a voice rumbles out a laugh.

“But you can’t see me. Sad, I suppose. Is that why you seek eyes?”

“Yes! Yes! We seek eyes, for our own enlightenment! To- to bring us to the next step of our evolution, and to be more like the Great Ones!” Micolash squirms while the unseen things explore his body, pulling his clothes apart with ease. “Ohhhh! Wha- Are you doing this? P-please stop! I must-“ Micolash moans and struggles to free his arm so that he might grab a sedative. His heart is pounding and he can’t think straight.

“I bet you want to see me.” It laughs again, and Micolash sighs a little as the many appendages softly flutter over him; a pleasant sensation roams across his legs and chest, wrapping around to his back. Something blunt reaches around to his rear and he jerks his hips to avoid it.

“I-I, I do! Stop!” Micolash is blushing hard at his predicament, where as far as he can tell, he’s being held aloft by some invisible force which is exposing him to the open air and speaking to him at the same time. He struggles in vain to reach the sedatives in his robe pockets, and the creature laughs at him again, its strange voice resonating through his cage into his head. The grip around his shoulders loosens and he slips down, landing flat on his chest in midair.

He reaches out to push himself up, feeling a soft but chitinous web of hard flesh beneath him, sprinkled with long wiry hairs. The fleshy limbs wandering over his body press against him more firmly, attempting to hold him up further. Micolash rushes to his cloak and tries to pour a sedative down his throat, but his shaky hands and the wiggling limbs beneath him cause him to spill a lot of it over his face and clothes. He licks his lips, looking down at the graves and rocks nearly thirty feet beneath him.

“I-I, I…” Micolash stammers, unable to form words. Beneath him the hulking invisible being massages his sensitive places with blunt limbs he can’t even attempt to describe. Is he on its back? He imagines himself on a tremendously gigantic elephant with a hundred antennae on its back and a dozen trunks, but part of him knows that it also has to have hands, somehow. In his discomfort, only slightly numbed by the healing blood, Micolash pulls his hands away from the heavily textured surface he’s been gripping, and allows himself to rest entirely in the group of invisible arms that cradle him. They feel unnaturally flexible and dexterous, and fold themselves around his body and his limbs with a certain energy he wasn’t anticipating. And for this scholar who doesn’t get too many willing hugs (save from his clothes), the embrace feels warm and wonderful and incredibly intimate. Micolash moans out loud while he is wrapped up in some unseen heat and pressure.

The invisible monster laughs at him again, and he whines when the appendage near his lower entrance starts worming its way inside. Someone is speaking, he hears through the Mensis cage. But Micolash can’t understand the words. It’s clearly not speaking a language he understands.

“Wh-whwwwwhat??” he has a lot of trouble getting one word out, overwhelmed by sensation and confusion. “What?! Are! You! DOING?!” By now his arms are pinned to his sides and he’s shifted to hanging almost upside down in the air. The creature mutters in an alien language, but its size and close proximity make it seem very loud, and the amplification by the Mensis cage makes it seem as though the sound comes from within him. However, the dry appendage trying to worm its way up his asshole distresses him the most.

“Have the scholars of Yharnam completely forgotten us then?” Micolash is lowered slightly and he squeals in terror as something quickly tilts him backward so he sits upright on several squirming limbs. “I am just testing my memory,” Something wet rubs against his thighs and belly, slicking up his crotch and easing the friction, somewhat. “Of the malleability of men.” And then, it slips right inside Micolash with ease, and he whines loudly and writhes in its grasp. It’s impossible to tell how deep inside it goes but Micolash thinks he can feel it in his guts; though maybe he’s just sick from the stress of his situation.

It definitely stretches him to his limit, though he’s happily surprised that it isn’t as horrendously painful as he was sure it would be. It certainly burns, but it also stirs feelings of pleasure deep inside him. The limbs that support him are rolling over him, wrapping him up and pulling him closer to the hidden being’s body. The limb inside him slips further up, before pulling out slowly. Micolash groans helplessly.

“Such a funny little thing,” its voice rattles in Micolash’s head and his ass stretches around the appendage as it worms its way back inside him. At first he thought that what was happening to him was beyond his comprehension, but now Micolash would swear that this creature is fucking him! He blushes at the revelation while it lifts him higher and rubs more of its broad slimy body over his genitals and midriff. Could this really be what he hopes? He gives a giddy laugh at the very possibility of this being a gesture from formless Oedon.

“Ohh, God! I- am one of the chosen, aren’t I?!” he struggles to speak, and he feels a warm tremor spread through the creature touching him, like a jovial laugh.

“You think that I want to… conceive a child with you?” It laughs again, and though the trapped man feels somewhat ashamed for assuming there was such a great spiritual significance to this encounter, he just moans at the way it buzzes inside him. “You really see nothing, don’t you.” Wind pulls him down, as if it were inhaling deeply.

“I want to,” he sobs. “I came here only to see…” He hangs his head while the being fucks him, but another limb finds its way up his chest to wrap around the Mensis cage, pulling his head upward.

“We..’re… So, close… to a breakthrough…” Micolash groans. The strong limbs like cradling arms pull him closer to the broad face of the creature, prominent ridges spanning it. Micolash can’t see it, but he feels it with most of his body, being pressed against it by several invisible arms. The one inside his ass also pushes him toward the body beneath him.

Wet bulbs sprout from the surface beneath him and for a moment, Micolash is completely lost as this alien being slathers him in some fluid from some part of its body he can’t identify. Though his mind is clouded by the incredible feeling of slick pressure on his cock, Micolash struggles to imagine what the hell kind of thing it is. The probe pulls out of him momentarily, before plunging back in and pushing him into the soft wet things that are touching him all over. It does this repeatedly, so that Micolash is swaying in the air, pressed against some wet invisible wall, with what might have been its arm deep inside him. It’s just too much for him, and he screams in terror in long bursts.

“Kos live again, you are loud,” the creature says, and a probing limb bumps into Micolash’s face and slips into his mouth before he has time to react. He moans as it forces its way to the back of his throat and makes him gag. After a few painful moments, his panic subsides enough for him to breathe heavily through his nose; small whimpers escape him with every breath while the creature rubs him over itself and fucks him. Micolash finally holds still and accepts his predicament, breathing evenly but hard through his nose and just feeling the strange soft flesh beneath him. Could it be amphibious? A branch of unknown fish that left the sea? Wiry antennae tickle him lightly as he’s rocked against the creature with the force of its fucking.

“From here, I can see you very well,” it purrs at him, and suddenly, finally Micolash understands. Like a spark he realizes that he is in the arms of an Amygdala, and that the wonderful wet warmth on his dick is actually the Amygdala’s many open eyes, peering into him from below. And what he’d thought were strange arms were actually the thick tentacles sprouting from its head. How had he not realized earlier? All this time, he was just sitting on its face.

“Yharnam has been very good to us. Such reverence was unexpected, long ago. It’s forgivable, I suppose, that none of you know about the importance of Amygdala. After all, we are just in it for blood, like all the others.” The Amygdala pulls Micolash onto one of its strong tentacles, fucking him again and again. “You seek eyes? You want to be like us? Keep seeking blood.” It blinks its many eyes one at a time, and Micolash moans around the fat tendril in his mouth. “It all needs blood. There’s not much else to see.” Suddenly the tentacle in his ass hits something inside him and it’s over, and Micolash blows his load over the open eyes of the Amygdala, which carelessly blinks it away. He whines pitifully, unable to form words, squirming uselessly. The limb inside him slows down, but still worms its way deeper inside, wiggling gently. The one in his throat mercifully pulls out of his mouth, and the few wrapped around his arms and legs loosen their grip. Micolash feels a full body high coming on, but he still reaches shakily for the last sedative in his cloak pocket, thankful for the feeling of it in his dry throat. He doesn’t speak for some time, laying limply against the appendages cradling him.

“I… I must thank you, I suppose.” He croaks.

“Oh sure, of course. We both serve a higher purpose. Amygdala senses what you need, and has no problem helping out the dignified Yharnamites who serve the Great Ones.”

“I really… must go.” Micolash coughs.

“Where is there to go in this nightmare of poison and death? You are in the best possible place, here with me.” It caresses him with its face, and Micolash shudders slightly.

“Please take your… self out of me.” He tries. The enormous Amygdala obliges, gently pulling out until he’s left feeling loose and empty. The tentacle worms around to support his rear like a seat.

“There is much yet to do, I have to... I mean… I will certainly return here,” says Micolash.

“Oh yes. When you humans have the wits about you to see and hear what is plain to see, you are much better company. Though when blind to the world, you can be a lot of fun.” Micolash squeals in surprise when a tendril wraps around his neck and pulls him backward suddenly.

“Yes… It was, certainly. An experience.” He mutters. Without warning, the Amygdala grabs hold of him in one massive hand. “Wait! What are you doing?!” He cries out in shock.

“I will send you off,” it says. Then it tightens its grip and squeezes until Micolash’s body is crushed painfully in its hand.

 

Micolash wakes up to a misty dawn by the bluffs overlooking the bay, feeling dizzy and nauseous. He had fallen asleep with his head tilted backward and it cramps horribly as he sits up too fast and falls to his hands and knees on the bricks of Yahar’gul. Through his spinning view of the world and the shooting pain through his neck and shoulders, he feels a buzzing warmth in his lower belly. Looking down at himself, he sees an obvious wet spot on his pants, but before he can recall his dream with any clarity, he vomits green bile, stinking half digested medicine he’s been drinking on an empty stomach.

Micolash stays there on his hands and knees, looking down at the puddle of bile in a daze. The slug’s remains are in pieces scattered through it, useless now. The clouds above have grown considerably, covering the visible sky in an ominous darkness that the rising sun can’t break. Micolash slowly rises to his feet, looking around for witnesses. On the long stretching balconies above the streets, there are several withered Pthumerian women looking down on him, but no one nearby; thankfully no one he has to look in the eye. Micolash wobbles in a hurry down the streets so he can make sense of what he’s seen in the privacy of his room.

Once there, he finally takes the cage off and stows it away in an ornately decorated cabinet. He stretches carefully, cracking his neck a few times, then sits at his desk. His memory is so unclear. He struggles to find words to describe what he remembers, but it all seems like a faded dream now, and all he can think of is how it felt to be held in the hand of an Amygdala. He thinks it spoke to him, but what it said is escaping his grasp. And did it really undress him? Maybe his travel failed and he just had a strange blood-addled dream about an important mythical archetype. But Micolash has faith; he knows that he really traveled to the Great Ones’ land, and he is certain a Great One reached out to him, at least in some way. He must talk to the other students who went to their land.

By the time Micolash has written up anything of substance it’s already noon, though the sky doesn’t readily show it. It’s still dark in his room when he decides he needs to eat. The biscuit in his pocket has fallen apart to crumbs, but he notices the day-old bread and sausage on his desk and eats it without wondering where it came from. His nerves are acting up. Tonight some councilors from the Choir are meeting with representatives of Mensis and even Byrgenwerth. They’re coming all the way down to the unseen village to see just how confident the school is in their research.

If Micolash is honest with himself, he feels that they’re barely scratching at the surface, and he isn’t really sure what it is they’re dealing with. Of course, he can’t ever say anything like that; it sounds too much like doubt in the church. He uncorks a fresh vial of calming blood and drinks it gratefully. Whatever the source truly is, and whatever the blood means for the nature of the world, he won’t deny it has a strong power to it. The great bells of the Grand Cathedral ring, announcing the arrival of the Choir members, and Micolash bursts into action to get ready. He puts on a fresh set of clothes and returns his cage to his head. He really should have met up with the other students who will be at the meeting, but now there just isn’t time.

When Micolash gets outside with notes in hand, rain has already started to fall. The streets are empty, but he hears bells ringing all around above him.

“Did you know the hunt has already started over in Yharnam?” a voice murmurs behind him, and Micolash spins around in surprise. It’s only Patches, smiling leerily down at him through his own cage.

“No…  Where did you hear that?” he asks.

“I heard it in the Nightmare,” Patches replies happily.

“Y-you aren’t going to call it the Nightmare in your eh, presentation, are you?”

“Noo, no, in my speech I only ever call it ‘The Land of the Gods.’ It sounds quite fetching, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Good. Excellent. Shall we?” Micolash gestures and they walk together to the plaza. Once there they fall in line with the other students representing Mensis. They’re all wearing cages and the formal robes, and many of them have a lost and dazed look in their eyes. When Patches and Micolash draw near there are a lot of greetings exchanged, cages bobbing as they bow politely to each other and mumble well-wishes. Micolash notices Damian’s absence right away, frowning with worry. Is he already in the midst of the beasts of Yharnam?

The Choir members gather on the raised balconies looking down on the crowd of students, standing proud with their blindfolds and white robes. An eerie silence comes over the crowd as a Pthumerian standing on the highest archway rings a bell repeatedly. The sounds rings out clearly and loudly through his Mensis cage, and Micolash wonders if the Choir members can truly hear it without the help of any tool. He tries to subtly drink a calming potion as a hooded high councilor of the Healing Church comes forward to speak. Rain falls heavily on their heads.

“Thank you all for gathering here. May we be blessed with blood.” The group resounds an “amen.” “I must first apologize on behalf of the scholars of Byrgenwerth, whose representatives have not arrived.” Patches snickers, but Micolash feels a tremor of nerves rising in his gut. Of course, Byrgenwerth has always given off a sense of bitterness toward the newer schools, but never to the point of refusing cooperation. Half the reason for this assembly, Micolash thought, was just to impress old Willem. For them to just not show up…

“Let us hear first from the esteemed Conductor of our Choir.” A tall blindfolded Choir member adorned with a long cape steps forward and shouts to the crowd around him.

“We have heard beautiful sounds from our lost Great One. We learn more from her every day,” he begins dramatically. “Nothing is more tragic than the loss of family, and we share in the pain of Ebrietas. First, I will pray for her solace.” Heads bow, and the Conductor prays at length. Micolash’s head buzzes with energy, and he looks to the other students of Mensis, many of whom look a bit green around the gills. The members of the Choir lining the plaza begin to sing, and the students of Mensis fidget patiently. When the prayer has finally concluded, the Conductor addresses the crowd again, and everyone falls quiet as he speaks on the wonders of the cosmos in the poetic way of a true musician. He finishes with a bow, thanking everyone present for contributing to the enlightenment of mankind.

“Let us hear next from the Alumni of the School of Mensis.”

In an excited burst, Micolash rushes ahead of the other students who were making their way up to the top of the stairs to speak. He grins at the Councilor while he waits to be introduced, eager to share his news. Unfortunately, Patches runs it to the podium before him, and speaks at length on his ideas regarding the nature of the land of the Gods. He makes connections between the patterns found in the cyclopean ruins and the sounds that he heard through the Mensis cage. Many of them, he claims, correspond to well known runes of Caryll, and through more study the nature of the voices in the Godlands could become clear. Ultimately, his point is nothing new: eyes inside his mind would be able to read the runes imprinted in the stone and in their minds, and aid in understanding the nature of the realm.

Micolash congratulates Patches on his way to the center stage; excited to negate his work entirely with his own revelation. Looking down at the plaza, full of students and the highest ranking Church members, Micolash swallows heavily before beginning.

“I must- I just want to say, I am so incredibly proud to say that I- I mean, the School of Mensis, from within the dreaming land of the great ones, has made contact with a higher being.” He pauses for impact. “The nature of our encounter is clear to me: the Great Ones wish us to join them there, to more easily facilitate the blessing that will come with the moon. I feel absolute faith that what I have communed with is none other than a great Amygdala, and it only wants to help us toward our goal, o-our shared goal.” Something scratches at the back of his mind as he says this, something that makes him doubt. He feels the wind pull at him, and he hesitates, letting the falling rain fill the silence. The moon should be at his back, lining up with the length of the plaza perfectly, but it’s currently hidden by the swollen storm clouds.

“I am terribly excited about what we will accomplish together. I… Heh heh, I can’t wait, really.” He sputters out a weak laugh, looking down at the crowd in the plaza. Someone pulls at his shoulder, and Micolash is dragged from within his mind away from the balcony.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Amygdala.... Have mercy on the poor bastard...


End file.
